


Paintball

by g_crowley



Category: Zootopia (2016), Zootopia: Pack Street
Genre: Animal Attack, Blood and Violence, Descent into Madness, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 11:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_crowley/pseuds/g_crowley
Summary: a personal take on what happened in the minutes before the event in "Savages" from Weaver's "Zootopia: Pack Street" from a character's POV. consider this a spoiler warning if you haven't read up to that point in the story. none of this is canon.





	Paintball

Ugh, wish I got more sleep before opening shop. Every time I visit the doctor, they tell me the same two things: “cut back on fish” and “a tiger your size needs 14 hours of sleep at least.” I tell them “That means closing the Box at 6 pm, dragging my ass to bed for over half a day of uninterrupted sleep on Pack Street, and then dragging it back out for a full day of work.” They ask, “What’s ‘the Box’?”, and the conversation ends soon after. Last night’s flow of pervs, freaks, and other people I call my friends kept a-flowin’ until 1 AM. Woke up at 8. Now that’s, if I do the math—carry the one, add like terms, PEMDAS— not enough fucking sleep.

The clock on the wall says it’s 7:22 PM; I’m hungry, haven’t eaten dinner yet.

“Excuse me?” A customer, first time, too. You can tell by the way they keep their voice at a whisper, like someone’s gonna catch them and tell everyone they know. Give it a few weeks and they start yawping like they’re at a Bug Burga drive-thru.

I yawn, look at the clock again. 7:24. “Hello there, welcome to Pandora’s Box! Need help finding anything?”

He’s a 30-something boar, short, stout, bristles on his face. He taps his trotters together with uncertainty, eyes darting across the shelves, shaking nervously. “C-could you, uh,” he stammers, “help me find a, um, uh…” He leans in. “A doll?” Looks like a blow up guy, to be honest. Kinda cute too, not “attractive cute”, but “cute” cute. I lean in too. “What species?” His eyes dilate, like a whole new world’s been opened up for him.

He says he has a thing for goats—“busty ones”, to be exact—so i escort him over a shelf full of empty eyed prey dolls, like a mountain guide to a tourist, and bring one down from the top shelf with one arm. He nearly squeals at the sight of it, with its plump size, charcoal colored latex, and separately inflated breasts (the valves’ locations at each nipple was a nice touch), cradles it in his arms, and waddles over to the counter.

“That’ll be $30.” He forks over a credit card, I ring it up, and stifle a laugh as he walks out a happy pig. Wonder if Mrs. Duroc knows her husband has her credit card?

Check the clock again, 7:30. I can get something to eat in 15. I watch the street, bored. A few regulars walk in and say hey, nobody from the Pack though. A fox, a cheetah, a ferret. If I didn’t let her go home early, Avo’d say something funny, like… a fox, a cheetah, and a ferret walk into a sex shop ... nah…You know what they say about ferrets, right? Tiny dicks? I dunno, she’s got a razor-edge wit or whatever y— hey, it’s Remmy!

Haven’t seen him in a while, I should probably wave to him or something. I tell the cheetah to watch the counter for a second. He’s on the other side of the street, I’ll try to get his attention. “Hey, Re—”

SHPAK!

Ghak! Wh-what the hell just hit me? The side of my head stings, I swipe a finger across my temple.

It’s...blue? Did someone just shoot me with a paintball gun?

I walk in. It’s 7:35. Still hungry. The weasel points out that I “got a little blue there”. Why gee, thanks! I hadn’t noticed, fuckstick.

“Whoa, Dora! I was just pointing it out, no need to get mad!” He—what? Did I just say that out loud?

“Yeah, you did. I got feelings too, ya know.”

“Sorry, sorry.” To the counter, I cough into my fist, take a deep breath. I’m fine, just tired, and hungry. So hungry. I wipe my hands, then look at them. They’re nice and soft. They’re shaking. I’m trembling, like that pig. That fucking huge, meaty pig. No, no no. It’s—they aren’t shaking, I’m holding them still right now. My eyes are shaking. My eyes are shaking, my hand is twitching and vibrating, my claws are sliding out.

Red. The shop is red, blood, fire. They’re cornering me, those rotten little ankle-biters, that fox, that cheetah, that ferret, gnashing their teeth, swiping at me, begging for a fight. I’ll show them I’LL SHOW THEM no. No, please stop, what the fuck is going on, they’re not cornering me they’RE GOING TO RIP MY THROAT OUT SO THEY CAN HAVE MY PLACE MY LAND MY PREY MY god no please i’m begging you stop look they’re backing away you don’t need to RUN RUN YOU DON’T RUN FROM ME AFTER YOU FUCKI no please what did you do what did i do i slashed him he’s bleeding run fucking rMY MEAT MY FLESH he’s on the street coughing you broke the glass stop please stop stop stop KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KI

***

Thomas Merino: By the time that sex shop [REDACTED] threw the cheetah through the window, I’d already packed my gun into the case.

Interrogator: You mean the modified AutoMag?

M: Yeah. Called it in, Lye-Kester [The suspect means Rico Leicester, one of Bellwether’s top scientists and one of the first arrested] picks up. Told ‘im I did it, and that the cat took out a few preds with her. Then I said “Hey, It took like 3 minutes for her to go under, what gives? You givin’ me weak doses?” Says nah, and that we’ll “talk about it later.” First thing I say to him in the cop wagon is “You wanna talk about it now?” [He laughs]

I: The investigation says you ran into someone on the roof?

M: [Groans] [REDACTED], yeah, we did.

I: Please refrain from using explicit language, this document will be presented in court.

M: Court, eh?

[The suspect proceeds to use as many expletives as possible within a duration of fifteen minutes until the previous interrogator leaves the room, citing “emotional duress”. Another officer enters and continues the interview]

Second Interrogator: Continue.

M: What, did your other [REDACTED} wuss out, [REDACTED]?

I2: [Presumably punches the table, glass of water jitters]

M: [Frightened bleat]

I2: Con-tin-ue.

M: Ok, fine, jeez! Guy on the roof, looked like he was in his 20’s. Wolf. I figured he was a cop til he called me by someone’s name and asked if I was that “sheep who moved in.” Almost fox-sprayed th—

I2: Tell us the name.

M: Uhh, Ronny, Randy, something with an “R” and an “ee”.

I2: Continue.

T: He, uh, realizes I’m not that guy, and I push past. Before I’m out, he asks me why I’m up there.

I2: And you told him… 

M: [Sips from glass, gulps] … “Paintball.”

[Tape ends]


End file.
